Sophie was too stunned to return it.
“Please try not to stress, Miss Foster. Nothing has actually changed. You’re the exact same girl you were a few minutes ago. You’re simply learning the proper way of counting.”
She knew he was right—but it felt so much huger than that.
Especially when Biana said, “Huh, so you’re older than me.”
Based on their IDs, Biana was a little more than thirteen-and-a-half. Dex was also thirteen, but he would be fourteen in a few weeks. Keefe was less than a month away from turning fifteen, and Fitz was about two months away from turning sixteen.
“So, you’re kind of in the middle,” Dex said. “But you and I are still the closest in age.”
He was right—though now she was six months older than him. And the gap between her and Keefe and Fitz had narrowed significantly.
“Wait—was I in the wrong level in Foxfire?” Sophie asked.
“Your age falls in the middle of the grade level brackets,” Mr. Forkle said. So you could’ve started as a Level Two just as easily as a Level Three. And given how behind you were from your human education, you needed the time to catch up.”
“I guess,” Sophie said, still fighting to squish all this huge information into her already full brain.
So . . . she was fourteen—as far as elves were concerned. Almost halfway to fifteen.
“Why do humans count age differently?” Biana asked.
“I suspect it’s partly because their bodies do not have such a clear indication of the moment of inception the way ours do,” Mr. Forkle said. “And partly because their pregnancies are much more uncertain. Humans miscarry all the time, at any stage of the pregnancy.”
Della clutched her stomach, like the very idea pained her.
“I know,” Mr. Forkle told her. “Sophie’s mother lost five babies before she sought my help. And while I was working at the clinic I met hundreds of women like her. The most heartbreaking part was that I could’ve fixed them all with a few elixirs—much like I did with your mother. She had no trouble having your sister after you, right?”
Sophie nodded. “So why didn’t you help them?”
“Because humans lost the right to our assistance when they violated our treaty and prepared for war. We even tried to help them secretly afterward. But they took the gifts we gave them and twisted them into weapons, or bargaining chips for their political agendas, or soggy, chemical-filled Twinkies. So I understand why we had to stop. But it was hard to watch.”
“I bet,” Della said, still holding her middle. “Humans are such temporary creatures.”
“They are indeed,” Granite said. “I’ve often pondered what it would be like to live each day knowing you only have seventy or eighty years on this planet. I wonder if that’s the real reason they wait those nine months and begin their timeline at birth. Once their clock starts ticking, there’s no turning it back.”
“That was one of the most striking things I noticed during my years living among them,” Mr. Forkle agreed. “Each generation dumps their problems on the next because they simply do not have enough time to deal with them. I suspect that if they could see a bigger picture, they would not destroy themselves and their planet the same way.”
Sophie nodded, remembering some of the thoughts she’d heard growing up. Death truly was humans’ constant companion. Maybe if it wasn’t, they’d care more about others and take the time to do things the right way.
And yet, later that night, as she tossed and turned in bed, nervous for what the first day at Exillium would bring, Sophie couldn’t help wondering if the elves’ indefinite lifespan hindered them just as much as the humans’ fleeting lives.
Would the Council—and even the Black Swan—be so willing to sit back and ignore problems if they couldn’t rest so comfortably in the knowledge that they still had centuries and centuries ahead of them?
The more she thought about it, the more she realized both sides had lost an important alternate perspective. And maybe that was what she’d been created for.
A girl from both worlds, who’d seen the follies and triumphs of each side.
And her job was to shake things up and do something new.
FORTY-ONE
BIANA WAS RIGHT—these masks smell funky,” Keefe said as the five friends leaped to Exillium.
The fleck of crystal on their beads dissolved as soon as they arrived on the slope of a misty mountain. Sharp winds stung their cheeks while they climbed the rocky path ahead, and the slender trees around them looked normal and healthy.
“No sign of the plague here,” Sophie said, not sure if she was relieved or disappointed. No plague meant no chance of finding any clues, either.
“So, um . . . where’s the school?” Biana asked. “Do you think we leaped to the wrong place?”